


Job Satisfaction

by JaneDavitt



Category: Original Work
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Air Force sends an officer to give a career talk to a graduating class, their teacher discovers there's something about a man in uniform — and out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Job Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> This short story first appeared in the Men in Uniform 1 anthology published by Torquere and is now out of print.

"And that's why you should think carefully about a future in the US Air Force," the speaker finished, sweeping the room with a steely glare that dared us not to. "Thank you for your time."

I stared at him. Oh, I was thinking long and hard about it. I wasn't qualified in any way, but so what? Jesus. Thirty minutes of sitting in the lecture room, cock throbbing in time with every breath I took, a file folder strategically placed in my lap to hide the evidence; believe me, I'd given it thorough, deep consideration.

The room emptied around me, students scurrying away to class, or an early lunch. I sat watching Colonel Sullivan pack away his notes into a battered black briefcase, willing my arousal to subside enough to let me go over and thank him for coming to talk to the graduating class.

It wasn't going to happen. He picked up his peaked cap and tucked it under his arm, the clear blue of his perfectly pressed dress uniform creasing at the crook of his elbow and I swallowed a whimper.

How could I be discovering a kink for men in uniforms at the ripe old age of thirty-three?

He walked briskly off the stage, heading down the center aisle, past my chair. I cleared my throat and met a sidelong glance of indifference, mingled with boredom, sprinkled with ennui. 

I got it. He was a colonel. I was a civilian with drool on my chin. Metaphoric, I hoped.

"You had a question?" he inquired, coming to a reluctant halt.

This close, the husky, gravelly voice I'd been listening to without taking in a single word rasped over my skin like calloused fingers. I tried to keep the shudder of lust from showing and gave him a bright smile.

"No, none at all. I wanted to thank you for coming." Oh, bad choice of words. "I'm the head of the English Department and when the career adviser rang in sick they asked me to come along--" I really had to stop using that word, "--and make sure you had everything you needed."

_Like me. Need me. Please. I've got a free period, two, in fact, and I'm totally at your disposal._

"Yeah? So where were you?" 

"What?"

He jerked his head at the stage, silver-gray hair blindingly bright in the sunlight flooding the room. "I arrived and this idiot of a boy sent me up there and I sat there with everyone staring at me for seventeen fuc--seventeen minutes before I decided I'd had enough and started talking. And then you walked in five minutes later, totally interrupted my chain of thought, and spent the next twenty minutes staring at me. I'm now on my way to the nearest washroom with a mirror to find out if my zipper's down."

"It isn't," I assured him. "Trust me."

"Or I have something stuck in my teeth." The look in his blue eyes was hard, suspicious, and icy.

"No, as far as I could tell, you have excellent teeth. Clean. Pearly white, even."

He leaned over and sniffed. "Are you drunk, mister?"

"My name's Wilson. Andrew Wilson. And, no, no, I'm not. Just, uh, observant."

"Huh." He stared at me for a moment longer and then relaxed, dropping down into the seat in front of me and resting his arms on the back of it after placing his briefcase on the floor. "So, you think I hooked any of the little darlings?"

"I'm not sure. You might want to make it seem a little more glamorous." Okay, maybe some of what he'd said had sunk in. "Your description of a latrine in the desert had some of them looking a little green."

"Glamorous?" He gave a sharp bark of laughter as he slid a pair of dark sunglasses on. The man was killing me. "There's nothing glamorous about it! Christ, it's the fuck-- it's the Air Force!"

"You can swear, you know," I told him dryly. "I'm not one of the students."

He eyed me. "No, I guessed that. The tie gave you away."

I fingered it. On the sober side, gray on darker gray, but we couldn't all wear a tailored uniform, showing off a tall, rangy body, muscular and lithe.

"It was a gift."

"From a friend?" He sounded incredulous. "You're shitting me."

"From a close friend," I said morosely. "At least he was at the time. What; you think he didn't made a good choice?"

The 'he' registered. I watched his lips tighten and twitch and waited for him to discover he had a plane to catch.

"I think you should hunt him down and tie him up by his balls with it."

"He's probably in the library," I told him. "If you want to wander over there and give me a practical, hands-on demonstration, I'd be most appreciative."

He grinned at me. We were close enough that I could see where his chin would darken with stubble at the end of the day, close enough for me to see he'd had a haircut and it'd left a thin strip of paler skin, showing up starkly against his tanned neck. 

"Yeah, I bet you would." The smile faded and he yanked petulantly at his own tie. "Fuck, I hate wearing this."

"Don't you wear it all the time?"

"What?" His dark eyebrows shot up. "Hell, no! As little as I can get away with. This is for special occasions. And times like this."

"Oh."

"Can't wait to get out of it."

" _Oh_."

I flashed on an image of him sprawled across a bed, long, bare legs spread, that cool, remote, impatient look on his face, wearing nothing but the jacket. Maybe the hat, too, yes, that would work.

"Wilson?" His drawl jerked me out of my reverie. 

"Mm?"

"You've got that weird, dopey look you had when I was talking. Mind telling me what I said this time?"

"I do, yes."

"I see." He nodded, stood abruptly, and then turned away. "'Bye, Wilson."

"Wait," I said impulsively.

"What for?"

Good question. "You're just leaving?"

"It's what I usually do after I've dazzled the crowd with my eloquence, yes. Why? You got a problem with that?"

"It's lunchtime; don't you want to eat first? I'm authorized to provide you with a meal." I wasn't, but if ever there was a time to lie creatively, this was it.

"I'm not hungry."

"Tired? Long trip? A hotel for the night?"

"It's noon, I've driven twenty miles, and don't let the gray hair fool you, I'm not exactly on my last legs, you know."

"Your legs are fine, too. And I like the hair." At some point, I was sure my mouth and brain would stop working independently.

"Well, thank you very much. I'm touched." He did sarcasm well enough to be in my profession.

"A beer?"

"I'm in uniform."

I risked it all. "You wanted to take it off, remember?"

He slid his sunglasses down and stared at me over the top of them. "There's a bar in town with that relaxed a dress code?"

"I live three miles out of town, heading north. The first house after the duck pond. The one with the long driveway, the fridge full of beer, and no neighbors."

"I have to go south when I leave."

It was a kinder 'no' than I'd expected. I nodded, summoning up an impersonal smile to show how much I didn't care.

"Of course, my sense of direction's a little off when I'm on the ground...." He hesitated and then shoved his sunglasses back into place. "A beer sounds good. And while we're drinking it, you can tell me exactly what you were thinking when I was talking."

"Exactly?"

He nodded. "In detail."

"Will you keep the uniform on until I've finished?" I asked. "Could be I'll find it a useful _aide–mémoire_."

He groaned. "God, you're one of them, aren't you? I could be hideous and hunchbacked and you wouldn't care as long as I was in my dress blues."

"I'm sure I'll like you just as well out of it," I assured him. "But there's only one way to tell."

***

I stared down at him and ran my hand over his bare chest, pushing his jacket aside and looping my fingers through the chain of his dog tags, the metal cool and slippery against my skin. He'd refused point-blank to wear the hat in bed, lecturing me about regulations and not wearing it inside or something equally trivial. 

The jacket, though, he'd slipped back on, after stripping off, muttering protests under his breath, and I was having trouble breathing.

"My turn," he said tersely. "Give me that fucking tie."

"Why?" 

He took the strip of silk from my hand and wrapped it around the base of his cock, letting the ends trail down over his balls. "Can you blow me without getting it wet and kind of messy?" 

"Not a chance."

His hand slid around the back of my neck, pulling my head down without meeting any resistance.

"Excellent news."

"Are you likely to get lost again?" I asked, punctuating the words with long, slow licks. 

His tags jangled and he clutched at my shoulders. "Oh God, I really shouldn't."

I raised my head and gave him the look that could reduce a classroom to attentive silence in less than ten seconds. It didn't work on him, but a finger sliding back behind his balls had him growling out, "I might. It's possible. Don't count on it, though."

"Simon--the man who gave me the tie--"

"Really don't want to hear about him now. Fuck, do that again, will you?"

"This?"

"That, yeah."

I rubbed my thumb over the slick head of his cock and followed it with my tongue. "He gave me one every birthday and every Christmas."

"Bastard."

"Mmm. Do you like this as well?"

He groaned.

"Good."

"So how many left to ruin?"

I watched the gray silk darken, spit-wet and stained. Thought about ties used as makeshift gags, restraints, whips.

I shivered pleasurably. Okay, _that_ kink I'd known about.

"Three birthdays, two Christmases."

"Four to go." He frowned thoughtfully. "He ever give you any socks? Handkerchiefs?"

"Got a drawer full of them."

"You're so full of it."

I flicked him a sweet smile and moved up the bed a little.

"Not yet."

I made him laugh, a surprised chuckle that had the lines in his face deepening and then smoothing out as he relaxed. It didn't last; a moment later he was tense again, his fingers tugging irritably at his jacket.

"Can I take this off now? It's not, uh."

"Yes?"

To my surprise, and maybe his, he blushed. "It's not respectful."

"God, way to make me feel guilty about a harmless, brand-new kink," I sighed. "Take it off, by all means."

He shrugged out of it and tossed it in the direction of the rest of our clothes lying in a heap on the floor. "'Brand-new'? You mean you don't always go catatonic at the sight of a uniform?"

"Never have before today," I told him. 

"Huh." He seemed pleased. "So I do have a way with words after all."

"Could be, but I wasn't listening to you, to be honest. Just staring. And thinking."

"So you told me." He shook his head. "Have you ever even been in a cockpit? Because there isn't much room. Definitely not enough for what you had planned."

"It was a fantasy!" I protested. 

"Yeah. Reality is, you'd get concussion and I'd crash the plane."

"No," I pointed out tartly, "reality is that in an hour I have to be teaching Shakespeare to a class of thirty and I'd like to be doing it with a smile on my face, so can we move this along?"

"How easy is that going to be?"

I stared down at an impressive erection. "You shouldn't have any problems. Unless you get lost and shove it in my ear."

He reached up and traced the curve of my ear with his finger. It was the closest we'd gotten to intimacy and I swallowed, uncertainty replacing euphoria.

"I remember where it goes," he told me, his fingers drifting over to my mouth, lingering there for long enough that I gave into temptation and kissed them, a soft push forward of my lips that brought a wary, yearning look to his face.

"How long has it been?" I don't know why I knew it had been a while for him; something in the way he touched me with a slow, careful hunger.

"A while."

I opened my mouth to tell him I hadn't meant to pry and then closed it again, settling for a nod.

"Could this get you in a lot of trouble?" It hadn't occurred to me my impulsive grab at something shiny out of reach might lead to consequences neither of us wanted.

"Five years ago, yes. Back then, I'd have walked right past the man I'd been trying not to stare at for thirty minutes, and kept on going."

"Oh." I felt absurdly flattered. "I didn't notice you looking."

"Observant, my ass."

"If you'd turned around, I'd have given it a searching observation."

He rolled over. "Take a look now."

"You're not going to be able to fuck me like..." My voice trailed away as I saw the white slash of scarring across his lower back. "Five years?" I asked, touching him in a gesture of reassurance that took some of the tension from his shoulders.

"Test flight," he said succinctly. "Plane went down, I made it. Barely. Unfit for active duty, though. Invalided out. You think they send real colonels to recruit?" He twisted around and gave me a quick grin. "Hey, lighten up, Wilson; five years; I'm over it. And it means I can fuck--discreetly--who the hell I want, because the only thing stopping me before was the fear of being grounded."

Hmm.

"Want to fuck me?"

He nodded. "Definitely. Still want to be fucked?"

I pushed him over to his back, undid the tie, and slid it off him. 

He scowled at me. "You're still going to trash it, right?" 

"It's history."

He eyed me. "Simon teaches history, doesn't he?"

"How did you know?"

"Only known you a few hours, Wilson, but it's long enough to know you like puns."

"I suppose I like words," I admitted. "And making them mean as much as possible."

"Even if you're the only one laughing?"

"Even if."

He stared at me in silence and then shook his head. "Weird."

I didn't care. He'd been staring at me. In his uniform. And now he was naked. In my bed. I caught sight of the alarm clock.

"Oh, God. Forty minutes."

"Come here."

I didn't have much choice; he grabbed my arm and yanked me down beside him.

"Better."

"If you define 'better' as 'dislocated shoulder', then, yes, I suppose so."

His mouth found a place on my neck that reduced me to a mewling, writhing mess and didn't move away until I'd lost the ability to form meaningful words.

"Much better," he murmured, sounding satisfied. "Okay. You didn't ask if I wanted to be the one fucking, which was rude, but I'm adaptable and you've got a great ass, so I'll let it go. You not asking. Not your ass."

"I do?"

"You're talking again," he accused me. 

"Isn't that allowed? Ow!"

His teeth left my nipple. "It's fun making you stop, I suppose. And you're the one who keeps pointing out we're on the clock here."

“True," I agreed breathlessly.

"I wasn't expecting to be doing this today."

"Makes two of us."

"So we both got lucky?"

"Not yet," I reminded him.

I'd forgotten why I didn't do this often until he moved to kiss me, hesitated, and didn't. 

I'd have let him. I wanted to blur the clean severe lines of his mouth with spit, bite them soft.

In the space of a few hours, I'd gone from harmless lusting to crunch time. I didn't even know his first name. The fact he'd gotten me hard--harder--with a sweep of his fingers across my face, and sympathizing, without pity, over his accident, helped a little. I still wasn't sure I was going to be smiling when he'd driven away, though. Facing a class of students when I was fresh from a lunchtime quickie with a stranger would be challenging.

"Hey," he said. "Thinking's right up there with talking."

I met his eyes. Blue eyes. Sky-blue eyes. Kinder than they'd looked before, if a little quizzical.

"Make me stop."

"Sure." His easy drawl made it a long, long word. "I can do that."

I fumbled around for what we needed and waited for him to roll the condom on with an unhurried, unflurried economy of motion. Let him touch me, his hands first gentle, curious, then hard on me, let him bite and lick and taste me. Let him turn me over and let him push inside me, slow and steady, his hands never leaving me, the heat of his body warming me from the inside out.

I rode the burn and the stretch and waited for him to stop being gentle.

His thumbnail scored a line down my spine, sending tingles radiating out, and I gasped, my head jerking up. "God."

"Mmm." He sounded distracted. "Still in a hurry?"

"Wish I wasn't."

"Yeah. Seems a waste. Wham-bam."

"I'm in a hurry," I clarified, "because I've been hard for hours and now you're in me." I took a second to breathe deeply and appreciate how far in me he was. "I'm not going to last long, so could you please fuck me? Hard as you like."

He sighed. "Impatient. Pushy. Unreasonable. It's like being back in Basic with Major Ryder on my ass day and night."

"Literally?" I asked involuntarily.

"No." He shuddered, which felt interesting when we were connected. "God, no."

One hand reached around, the tips of his fingers finding a path from my balls up. I gave an appreciative moan and got the palm of his hand curved and shaped for me to rub against.

He was good at this, or maybe we were good together. He picked up the rhythm needed to thrust into me as I pushed back, picking up speed when I did.

It was abrupt; one minute we'd been chatting and then his hand had silenced us both, everything fading but the need to fuck, _now_.

My skin prickled with heat and sweat I heard his breath catch as I knocked his hand away from my cock and guided it back to my hip. I wanted to feel him move, all that trained control focused on me, the disciplined strength of his body shaping mine. I wanted his hands on me, gripping tightly.

I wanted the fantasy of being fucked by an officer to go away, because he deserved better than that.

"You feel…" His voice shook and a wave of shame washed over me because I'd assumed a lot more than how he wanted to do this. Assumed he did this all the time, looking the way he did, and he didn't, but he was with me. "God."

He fucked me, short, choppy, desperate thrusts now, barely taking time to pull out even the little he needed to shove back in, as if he didn't want to surrender his possession. I spread wider for him, reached back and grabbed at his thigh, tugging him closer for a moment, trying to tell him I wanted him.

He paused, leaned forward, and kissed the side of my face awkwardly, stretching to do it. I turned my head and our lips brushed, a promise of more, later, when we were face-to-face.

Then he straightened up, patted my hip in a warning, and slammed into me hard, forcing a groan out of me, heartfelt and sincere. He came a dozen strokes later, after fucking me in silence until his climax tore through him and his harsh, quick breaths turned into a soft, exultant grunt.

His fingers eased their grip and I let him have a moment to get himself under control before turning. His eyes were still glazed and dazed, and the hand he lifted to smooth back his short damp hair trembled.

"God. Been way too long," he muttered.

I let him pull out of me and dispose of his condom, which he did neatly, leaving it bundled in a handful of tissues on the bedside table. Then I cleared my throat. "Umm...."

He stared at me, his eyebrows snapping together. "You didn't come? I was that bad?" He looked mortified.

"No. You were good. I just--"

"What?" He lay down beside me and I rolled to face him. "What do you want?"

"Your hand will do," I told him. "I wanted you to enjoy it without needing to think about me." It sounded stupid in my head. He smelled raw, male. The back of his hand rubbed against my stomach, low down, so my cock, stiff and slick, bumped his palm. "That's all."

"Not think about you when I was fucking you?" he asked incredulously. "Are you nuts? Oh, never mind. Come here."

I was there, but I didn't bother pointing that out. He kissed me as his hand tightened around me, working his way from my cheek to the corner of my mouth before I lost patience and turned to meet his mouth with mine.

The kissing was distracting. His tongue slid and darted between my lips, playful and teasing, until I bit down on his lip. He moaned and his hand squeezed me to the point of pain, making me gasp and writhe, but not complain.

His hair was softer than it looked, but frustratingly short. My hand slipped through it as I stroked his head. I settled my hand on the back of his neck, finding a place that made him shiver and press closer.

"Come for me." He nuzzled hard into my neck, his teeth scraping my skin. "Hell, come on me..."

"Is that an order, sir?" I panted. His thumb swept across the head of my cock at the end of every upward stroke, a maddeningly swift caress that wasn't quite enough to send me over, although I was close.

"Nope." His hand moved faster, fingers slackening enough to let him speed up, fast enough that it felt as if all of my cock was being touched at once. "Just want you to do it."

I buried my head in the crook of his shoulder, breathing in the scent and taste of his skin, and came over his hand and belly in a series of jolting spurts that I couldn't have held back, and didn't want to.

He sighed and pulled me to him; reaching down to touch the trail of come I'd splattered him with, staring at his wet fingers. "Long time," he murmured.

I could see the clock behind his head. We were going to have to shower, dress, and leave in the next fifteen minutes.

"If you want--if you like--the next time could be sooner."

"For someone who teaches English, you're not very good at saying things clearly."

"I want to do this with you again in the very near future." I raised an eyebrow. "Better?"

He grabbed some tissues and wiped himself clean. 

"Do teachers work weekends?"

"This teacher doesn't."

Getting off the bed, he dressed, recreating the man I'd lusted after, covering up the body I'd held, kissed, and come on with crisp white and blue. He caught me looking and smiled a little knowingly. "So will it work for you if I stop by Saturday night? I won't be wearing this, you know."

I pictured him in jeans, a soft thin T-shirt, a faded shirt.

"Works for me." 

He tucked his hat under his arm, then grinned and put it on his head, adjusting it with a practiced tug.

"Well?"

"You look good." Breathtakingly good.

"I do?" A faint wariness clouded his eyes.

"You looked better five minutes ago."

I meant it. And when he kissed me goodbye and the brim of his hat smacked my forehead painfully, I took it off him and tossed it aside.


End file.
